Rob Roy

1995

Archibald Cunningham: Think of yourself a scabbard, Mistress McGregor, and I the sword. And a fine fit you were, too. Mary: I will think on you dead, until my husband makes you so. And then I will think on you no more.

Archibald Cunningham: What did you do with that bag of guts Killearn? Irritate me not McGregor or I shall have you dragged a while. And I am a man of my word. Robert Roy MacGregor: You're a thief, a murderer and a violator of women. Archibald Cunningham: Aah... I had hoped you'd come to me long since on that score. Robert Roy MacGregor: If I had known earlier you would have been dead sooner. Archibald Cunningham: I will tell you something, to take with you. Your wife was far sweeter forced than many are willing. In truth to put to it I think not all of her objected.

Robert Roy MacGregor: If it's a boy, call him Robert. If it be a lass, name her after my love, Mary McGregor.

Archibald Cunningham: Love is a dung hill, Betty, and I am but a cock that climbs upon it to crow.

Duke of Argyll: So, Mr Cunningham, what are these principle sins that distress your mother? Dice? Drink? Or are you a buggerer of boys? Archibald Cunningham: It is years, Your Grace, since I buggered a boy... And in my own defense, I must add, I thought him a girl at the moment of entry. Duke of Argyll: (laughs) What say you, Guthrie, that Archie could not tell arse from quim? Will Guthrie: I've heard that many Englishmen have that same difficulty.

Robert Roy MacGregor: Mr Cunningham and I have matters outstanding.

Mary: I love the bones of you, Robert McGregor, but you take too much to heart that canna' be helped.

MacDonald: I do not serve Robert McGregor. I am his friend, and count myself fortunate to claim it.

Duke of Argyll: So, Mr Cunningham. What are these principal sins that distress your mother? Dice? Drink? Or are you a buggerer of boys? Archibald Cunningham: It is years, Your Grace, since I buggered a boy... And in my own defense, I must add, I thought him a girl at the moment of entry.

Robert Roy MacGregor: Do you know how fine you are to me, Mary MacGregor? Mary MacGregor: And you to me.

Robert Roy MacGregor: You were right, Mary. I must have my own way too often. Mary MacGregor: No, Robert. Robert Roy MacGregor: If I had just given Montrose what he wanted, then Alan and Alasdair would still be alive... Mary MacGregor: And wrong would have been done you! Robert Roy MacGregor: And what about the wrong done you? Wrong past bearing. Mary MacGregor: No, not past bearing! Not if I have my Robert, and he has himself.

Montrose: Great men, such as yourself, draw rumors as shite draws flies. Duke of Argyll: You are the shite, Montrose, and the flies upon it!

(on their way to Robert's duel with Cunningham) Duke of Argyll: You are riding to your death, he will kill you. I feel sorry for your wife. Robert Roy MacGregor: Perhaps you'd like to wager a sum for her maintenance. Duke of Argyll: Well, if it will ease your passing, I'll lay ten guineas for her. Robert Roy MacGregor: Fifty would stretch farther. Duke of Argyll: Ha ha! By God, you have a style to you, MacGregor! I like that!

Killearn: She cut me! The bitch cut me! I'm cut bad! Alasdair MacGregor: Not bad enough for me. (drowns him)

Mary MacGregor: Robert, there is more. I am with child... and I do not know who the father is. Robert Roy MacGregor: Ach, Mary... Mary MacGregor: I could not kill it, husband. Robert Roy MacGregor: It's not the child that needs killing.

Robert Roy MacGregor: Did you boys know there's going to be a new addition to the family? Duncan MacGregor: Is it inside you? Mary MacGregor: Yes. Duncan MacGregor: How does it get out? Robert Roy MacGregor: Same road it got in.

Archibald Cunningham: (rasping whisper) Bring him on. Montrose: You speak, Archibald! One must never underestimate the healing power of hatred.

(Robert asks the Duke to arrange a duel with Cunningham) Duke of Argyll: MacGregor! Robert Roy MacGregor: Your Grace? Duke of Argyll: He will kill you, MacGregor. I would lose if I wagered any other way. Robert Roy MacGregor: Your Grace has my permission to profit as you wish.

Referee: You are here on a matter of honor. I am here to see that you settle it honorably. There will be no back-stabbing, you will not throw your blades, nor will you use weapons other than those agreed. If quarter should be asked... Robert Roy MacGregor: No quarter will be asked. Archibald Cunningham: Or given.

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